Pomegranate Seeds
by Titania of the Fae
Summary: There is a fine line existing between true love and harboured hate. He gave her a ring to show his affection. This is a story of that scene. A continuing series of intertwined oneshots. Please R&R. EC per my usual.
1. Pomegranate Seeds

**Disclaimer:**I own nothing nothing nothing, save the words in this order. This story may include references from Leroux, Kay, or ALW- as I use all in my writing, though this piece really isn't based on any single source. Enjoy, and please leave a note if you have any opinion at all. On with the story!

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**_Pomegranate Seeds  
(_**or **_The Fine Line)_**

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The scene wasn't out of the ordinary in any way. Two people who cared deeply for each other sat in a lavishly decorated personal library, each reading their genre of choice in from of a blazing fire. It was a scene of perfect contentment, each person silently reveling in the presence of the other. But who could these elegant creatures be? A married couple perhaps? Very dear friends? Such is what an uninformed voyeur would suspect. However, the circumstances of such a scene were beyond the typical.

The beautiful library was set not in a grandiose manor atop a hill, but deep under the streets of man- entombed somewhere between Humanity and the despair that is Hell. The couple were not two wealthy newlyweds, but a reclusive genius and his young protégé. Yet, each personage held the other in such esteem and held such sentiments, that it was hard to describe exactly what they were to each other. Yet, fear on each one's part, one of rejection and the other sprung from naivete kept such feelings encased in glass hearts. There is a fine line between true love and hate. A fine line between madness and sanity. And, unbeknownst to all, hairline cracks threatened to shatter the crystal illusions.

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She sat staring at the dying fire, her cerulean gown spread across the rich Persian carpet and her feet tucked beneath her. It was a position she had adopted often these past weeks, one of contentment and repose. Her pastel wardrobe always seemed such a strange contrast to the room, with its heavy velvet reds and luninous spun golds. The décor was so unlike her, so opposite from the light airy world of her dreams. Yet there was something perfect about it, something which made her feel at peace here. It was as if her perspective on life changed each time she descended to this castle of the Underworld.

Then there was Erik- darkness personified- who was a perfect match for this midnight mansion. Whenever she returned, decked in the breezy finery of her aboveground existence, she would feel more and more out of place in this ethereal world he wove with his art, his words, his music. She would find herself longing to be adorned in darkness, a Persephone with violet silk draped against alabaster skin and deadly garnets encrusted in mahogany curls. She wished only to be an embodiment of this place, but she could never speak such imaginings aloud to anyone. Erik would only laugh and reply with practical sarcasm that "Dark velvet would make you sallow, my dear. We wouldn't want you resembling me." or "You are much too alive to be Queen of the Dead, Christine." No, she could never tell Erik. Nor could she ever speak to Raoul of it. He would think her mad if he did not _already_ question her sanity at times. If she wasn't careful, her dear childhood friend would cause the end of this moonlit fairytale.

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A light cough broke her reverie and she quickly turned her head towards its source. He was staring at her above the heavy tome in his hands (seemingly written in Russian), his golden eyes mirroring the dying embers she had been studying so closely, yet so unseeingly.

"Is your novel so against your liking, my dear? Or do you perhaps fancy yourself a gypsy- divining the future through the flames?" Had he not perfected the art of stoicism, she was sure his exposed lips would have curled into a sort of smile. As is was, however, only his eyes danced in their amusement.

"Oh, no Erik! The novel is intriguing. I only got caught up in my own thoughts, is all."

"Those thoughts must hold a great deal of gravity, the way you were gazing at that fire so intensely." He had set his large volume aside and was leaning forward ever so slightly, with an air of expectation. She understood his silent request for her continuation and made no hesitation indulging him in the inner workings of her mind.

"Only my thoughts of how my life has changed in so little time, is all."

As she spoke, Christine began to slowly inch her way over to the plush chair which held her Angel. With every movement towards him, he made a subsequent movement back until he was once again leaning against the cushioning. He alwaystried to keep what he called "respectable distance" between teacher and student. The concept bordered on the insane, however, as he went to great lengths to avoid the breach of such a distance (save for certain times when he lost his fragile temper). In truth, though he would never admit, he was afraid that if she ever came too close, he would never be able to let go.

They stared at each other for a time, she awaiting a response and he silently regarding her presence at his knee. Finally he spoke, composed and melodious, with only the remnant of a pained expression within his eyes.

"Tell me then, has it changed for better or for worse?"

"Oh! For better of course!" she cried emphatically, her sapphire eyes glistening. "I've finally been able to sing- in real roles, too- just as my father always dreamed I would! I've finally become more that just a face in the crowd! I've become, well, somebody! But, most of all, not only have I discovered my Angel of Music is real flesh and blood—"

He felt his heart lift and begin to soar at this. She _was _glad he was real, even if he was not truly heaven-sent. His lips twitched in a most unfamiliar sensation of joy, and perhaps they would have formed a smile. That is, had Christine not continued thus.

"—and I have been reunited with my dearest childhood friend! It is magnificent what changes have occurred, in such immediacy, too, Erik!" she smiled innocently, quite unaware of her unthinking blunder.

He regarded her darkly, his fey eyes now dulled to a tarnished brass and mumbled, more to himself than anyone else, "Ah yes, the boy… and all the other amiable suitors waiting to buy you with their trinkets and tokens of affection."

"Buy me!" her nose wrinkled in disbelief. "I was unaware of a price upon me! Though, I must admit, I do not understand the sudden notice of the public- specifically the men! Do you truly believe they care so little of me? That they only wish to parade me around like some prize horse?"

He took in her wide eyed glare and knew fully well that she wished hime to refute such doubts, to assure her the handsome young suitors cared only for the sweetness that was Christine. She wanted him to tell her that they loved _only her_, not some fantasy, even if she was forbidden to love any of them in return. However, he knew that not only to be an untruth, but that telling her such things would not help his purposes in the least. He instead lightly replied,

"What man would not wish to stroll through the parks with the _Bijou de l'Opéra_

upon his arm?"

He watched as her face fell, but his thoughts were elsewhere, in a lovely park complete with it's own lovely stream. A moonlit paradise where he walked arm in arm with one, Mademoiselle Daae, and the sound of her bell-like laughter melded with the light tinkling of the stream until the entire scene was bathed with overtones of a beautiful sonata.

"…I suppose it is true then," she was saying when suddenly she noticed Erik humming some unknown melody. She was having a serious conversation and he was _humming_? "Erik, have you heard anything I've said?"

His reverie broken, he blinked at her a few times, as if adjusting his eyes to the light, before replying, "I'm sorry, dear, but you know, they say hearing is the first sense to endure decay."

Her brows knit together in consternation as she mumbled, so softly she herself could barely discern it, that she believed his hearing was not the problem in the least. A sudden glitter in amber orbs acknowledged he had heard her perfectly and, with her suspicions confirmed, she continued.

"I was simply stating the truth of what you have been trying to tell me. They only want La Daae, I suppose. They have no notion of loving Christine. For who ever noticed mere Christine?"

They sat in contemplative silence for a time until he questioned, albight quietly, "Would you rather I had never taught you to sing?"

Her instinctive reaction was to protest against such a thing, but a glance at his countenance stilled her tongue. He was gazing at her with such a strange, intense emotion, she feared he would burn holes in her clothing, or worse, her skin. The realization slowly dawned upon Christine like a crashing wave. His indifferent comment had been anything but indifferent, it had served to veil his true meaning- one he would not speak aloud. _I noticed,_ it said, _I cared when no one else did._ Her gaze fell from his piercing glance, though she could still feel it upon her, towards her wrist as she began to absently play with the bracelet given to her by the only admirer she felt anything for. Raoul. Had he noticed her when she was still just _Christine_?

Unbidden by her mind, an image emerged of a particular day in which two patrons arrived backstage- Phillipe, Comte de Chagny, and his brother. She could remember recognizing his face immediately, but being too shy after all these years of separation, she had said nothing. He, on the other hand, had looked straight at her for a minute or so, before turning upon his heel and walking over to the next group of lovely chorus girls. Meg Giry had assured her he had not seen her, but she knew otherwise. And then, that night, she had cried her heart out to her Angel, who, though adament they begin their lessons, had aquired a much more gentle, comforting voice for the duration. Raoul. Did he love the reality of the girl or the fantasy of the star?

Her gaze lifted from the glistening gold and quickly hid it beneath her sleeve once more, lest Erik discover it. His thoughts, however, appeared to be focused upon some unknown horizon as he gazed at the ring around his smallest finger. Was he scrying a course of action from that midnight stone, as a great magician is wont to do withhis crystal ball?

The moment didn't last long enough for her to decide, however, for mere seconds after her gaze fell upon him, his head snaped up in one fluid motion that seemed almost inhuman. Almost an action of the cornered prey. He glanced back at her, a strange resolve echoing around his eyes, and in one graceful motion, emerged from the chair cushions while simultaneously beckoning her to follow.

"Come, Christine," he said with a hint of some primitive hymn in his voice, "I have something for you. Would you like to see?"

It was a command, not a question on his lips for she _would_ be shown, whether she wished it or not. The thought that had presented itself to Christine but moments before was shattered by his strange, imperious smile. He would never allow himself to be the prey- only the predator.

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She was led into the Louis-Phillipe room which, though decoratedin the same basic shades as the rest of the house, had a more subdued, more dreamlike, more _feminine_ air. Christine remembered her first visit to this space, how she had marvelled at the vanity, the canopy bed, how even the paintings upon the wall had been chosen with only her in mind. The though had made her shudder then as it did now. Erik's fervent gaze upn her wasn't helping the foreboding feeling welling within her chest, either. What _was he staring at_ anyhow? He was too close to her, closer than he usually allowed himself to be. Her breathing became disjointed as she followed. Something was wrong.

He walked ahead of her towards the vanity, pulling out the mahogany chair for her. With a graceful flourish of his hand, he made a slight bow as if inviting her to take a seat.

"Come Christine, you really should sit down. You are looking a bit peaked, my dear."

Words eluded her as she made her way towards the dainty chair, sitting upon it gracefully while allowing her Angel to push her towards the gilded vanity. She watched him in her mirror uneasily as he procured some small object from behind her back. She took little notice of whatever it was he set down before her, however, as she was too busy studying _him._ Sapphire eyes watched only reflected amber orbs, just as the owner of said eyes kept his unreadable gaze fixed upon the double of the woman seated in front of him.

"Are you not curious as to what I have given you?"

Her eyes snapped down to the object set in front of her. A soft gasp escaped her lips as she took in the sight. A dainty jewelery box lay before her, all gilded gold carved into images of roses and spring. The lid held a crimson cameo, its milky goddess forever captured in an expression of serenity, porcelain curls falling upon porcelain shoulders. Christine reached out to caress the gilding when he made his move, like the viper she knew he could be.

"I don't believe I've ever seen that particular bracelet before. It is truly magnificent, you know. Wherever did you get it?"

It was spoken innocently enough, but Christine felt her hand stay poised before her gift. The words had paralyzed her as sure as any venom would. Her gaze moved from the exquisite box to the glittering band upon her arm, its single heartshaped charm dangling dangerously in the air. Fear gripped her heart as she took in her teacher's reflection- nonchalant, uncaring. But his eyes, oh those horrid eyes reflected the myriad lights of candle flames circling the room.

A plastered grin upon her face, she shaking replied, "Oh, that? Oh it was… only given to me… by Ra… by a friend… yes, a friend. Just a token, you know."

"Of _course_," the dark voice replied, "Just a _token._ Then you won't mind if I examine it, then?"

She would have mentioned that it wasn't worth looking at, but was not at such liberty to do so. For, without waiting for any assent, the Dark Angel had firmly grasped her wrist and pulled it upwards and behind, towards his glittering eyes. This, of course, caused Christine to be tugged halfway around her chair into a most awkward position in which she had a spectacular view of an expensive, black evening jacket. His long fingers were still clasped upon her and she wondered where all his careful attention to "respectable distance" had gone. A tilt of her head allowed a view of Erik's scrutinizing gaze upon the trinket. It wasn't until he turned that look upon her that she recognized the crazed, jealous cast to his eyes.

"_To my dearest Lotte_," he read, carelessly dropping the charm to rest against the wrist still within his deathly grasp. "I had no idea your aquaintances were calling you by childhood names, Christine. Had I but known you no longer enjoyed the title of _my Angel_, I surely would have stopped calling you such, dear. Though I can't say I believe Lotte to be a better alternative."

"Oh, no, but I didn't want… that is—"

The grip around her wrist tightened and she felt herself pulled upwards, so that she was half sitting and half kneeling upon the chair. His face was now mere inches from her own as he said softly, melodiously,

"I had thought you understood my instructions about accepting girfts from your suitors, especially accepting _kisses_, Christine!"

Horror permeated her being as she remembered the circumstances surrounding the gift. Raoul had been leaving the Opera and she had been entering. He had placed the little bracelet within her hand and then, with utmost chastity, place a light kiss upon her lips. Christine's free hand touched her lips, not only at the thought of that kiss, but at the realization that Erik had seen. _He had seen._

"Oh, yes, I knew. You are a horrid liar, dear. We must keep you in the most honest of roles in future productions, you know. But, enough of that, perhaps you would like the rest of my gift to you, hmm? If you take from those I directly told you not to, I doubt you'd reject an offer from me… though a tutor and a suitor are not nearly the same, are they Christine?"

His face inched closer to hers until she could feel his breath caress her lips. She felt her breath catch within her throat. Was _he_ going to kiss her, just as Raoul had after giving _his_ gift? More importantly, did she actually _want _him to kiss her? Instead, his face suddenly fell away, leaving her lips cold and abandoned. Her wrist was suddenly released and she dropped harshly onto the chair. A mixture of relief and disappointment flooded her as she gathered the strenght to mention that anything between Raoul and herself was only a petty, childish game. Erik only twisted her back around in her chair while pointed to the jewelery box before her.

"Then pretend for me that you are simply _elated_, just _bursting_ with excitement, to open _that_."

Never had such a lovely piece appeared so ominous. Did a scorpion await within, to prevent her hand from ever accepting another gift? Her thoughts began to run wild until she realized she had hesitated too long, and Erik was _not_ pleased. She felt another hand upn hers, roughly guiding her fingers to open the lid.

"_Open it!"_

She had no choice but to obey and, as the object flipped open, she recoiled in fear of what might be within. No deadly creature met her gaze when she finally opened her eyes. Only a shimmering ring was nestled inside the velvet fabric of the box. It was an exquisite, yet decidedly simple, gold band set with three small sapphires, each almost as black as midnight. She stared at it vaguely as realization of exactly _what _it was reached her.

"That's a wedding ring." she began quietly.

He visibly scoffed at her as he lifted the ring to the lit sconce upon the wall. "Why would a man such as I have any need for a _wedding ring_, dear?" a hint of sorrow permeated his speech," Although, I _do_ believe it will fit best right… here." He said this while lifting her right ring finger slightly. Then, he proceeded to forcibly push it upon her finger, taking no care for gentleness or bruised skin.

"Take it as a oken of my _friendship_, just as you say your Vicomte's gift was. Take it as a reminder that I am _always_ watching, _always _seeing, _always _guarding."

He let his hands pass through the air about her hair and then brought his lips close to her ear, silently whispering.

"Take it as a reminder that _I_ saw you when _no one else_ cared to look."

And, with that, the air shifted and he was gone, dissolved into the shadows which he took such solace in. She had been left to stare at the glistening ring upon her lightly bruised finger and to listen to the dark concertos reverberating through the house upon Lake Averne.

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She awoke the next morn to find a note scrawled in red ink upon her bedside table.

_Christine,_

_Forgive any impropriety on my part last night. It is not necessary for you to accept that abominable piece of jewelery if you do not wish to. Tea awaits you upon the table in the parlor._

_ E._

She set down th note and began to ponder the ring that had been laid beside it sometime during her slumber. Had it been she who pulled it of in a fit of desperation? Or had he removed it while she slumbered, a silent plea for a truce? Yet, as she studied the darkness of the stones, she herself divined a course of action. With sudden determination, she placed the ring around her finger, knowing its meaning fully. She would accept all its truths and consequences as surely as Persephone accepted the pomegranate seeds. For, though we may hate those that we love, it is only _because_ we love that we begin to hate.

_Fin._

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**A/N: ** laughs I believe this is the single longest story I've ever written in one chapter. 10 pages, typed? Anyways, I hope you truly enjoyed this effort. As always, I ask for any feedback, even if it is simply "I hate/love this story!" Until next time, I remain your faithful author:

_TotF_

;-)


	2. Extended Siren's Ransom

**Disclaimer:** As you all well know, I own zip, zilch, and yes, even nada. Only the words in this particular order belong to me. Possible references to Leroux, Kay, or ALW may abound.

_Well, you guys asked for it, so here it is. I'm going to call these "optional chapters" as the story can still be read as a oneshot, as it was originally intended. I plan for 3 extra pieces, including this one, in this little series. I say series because, although this chapter occurs in close range to the original story's events, the second two take huge jumps in time. I had a bit of trouble transferring the images in my head to an actual story, so forgive me if this is not quite on the same level as the first part which flowed rather easily for me. A vague idea for ch. 3 is in my head and ch. 4 has itself all planned out already (was actually planning it before I decided to continue this story, but I don't think it would work as well as a oneshot, so…). So, happy reading, and for all those who asked for more and supported the original oneshot- this is for you guys. _

_Thus ends an exceedingly long author's note…_

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_**Pomegranate Seeds:**_

_(extended)_

"_Siren's Ransom"_

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So life returned to a somewhat normal pace for a quite unconventional relationship. An afternoon consisting of tea and an ignorance to events of the night previous was enough to mend, if not fully heal, the wounds of the past. Fireside conversations and lessons in the perfect deliverance of a melody were quickly resumed with only the faintest acknowledgement of recent developments. Only the slightest glint in amber eyes when her hand would pass his line of vision and the subconscious acceptance of an odd, yet strangely satisfying, new weight upon her finger signified that from this point on, their friendship, or however one might describe it, would always be altered in some way. Two gold spun rings, both alike and yet distinct, one with a masculine quality and one with a dainty style, and both set with dark stones which could be two parts of the same whole. Yet, due to the way their creator cut them, may never be able to fit back together into the perfect whole they were meant to be. Such is the way with stones, and perhaps, with souls as well.

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Although Persephone proudly bore the title of the Dead's own queen, she was also bound to be the lone heiress of life-giving Spring, progeny of the great Demeter. Thus, she was forced to periodically ascend from the glittering darkness of the Elysian fields to prey upon the Overworld once more. There she would complete her filial duty by eliminating the Winter's death with the warmth of the Light- bringing hope and joy to the hearts of the masses. Just as the goddess somberly made her journey across the River Styx to please the peoples, so did one Christine Daae within an ebony boat, upon an equally dark underground lake, guided by a figure as imposing as Charon himself.

He studied her with solemnity, reclining before him upon the lush, velvet pillows, her skin a reflected moonbeam in a blood red sea. Facing away from him, she lay while gazing ceaselessly into the mysterious waters below, fathoms of the unknown beneath. A slender, ivory arm caressed the obsidian surface, followed closely by silken tendrils of hair. And, upon one perfect finger, rested a simple gold band set with three of the darkest sapphires ever seen by human eyes. It was a most inconspicuous piece of jewelry, and yet, to his amazement, it had become a permanent fixture upon her lovely form.

He watched as she continued to absentmindedly stroke the tides and nonchalantly brush back the errant strands of hair which blessed the very water with their presence. Holy water for a ravaged soul. Before more thoughts of such idolatry could walk the twisting staircase of his mind, a flash in the lantern's light held his attention. It was no goddess offering which he perceived decorating her right wrist, but an opulent bracelet, the best that money could buy. _The Vicomte's bracelet._ She still wore it, even as his ring marked her finger. The shadows closing around him like a pair of dark wings, he began to hasten the pace, his stony gaze revealing no more emotion than that of a statue.

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She was enjoying the cool air of the labyrinth, the slippery feel of the lake beneath her fingers. The sudden shift in the boat's speed had not troubled her in any way, although it was unlike Erik to hurry anywhere. He always seemed to go about things in his own way, on his own time, and _still_ never be late. But perhaps he was thinking of her, allowing her extra time to prepare for that night's performance and to talk to friends and acquaintances she hadn't seen in a few days. Perhaps she would be able to talk to Raoul, although she knew her Angel would be rather displeased if she spent her excess time with him. Erik _had_ been an even more perfect than usual gentleman since that morning she had resolved the situation with the ring, so perhaps he would finally come to his senses about her childhood friend.

She now studied said ring as it dipped and rose from the murky depths. Every so often the gold would glint in the watery light emitted from the lanterns, a gleaming sun in the midnight sky. Her eyes eventually came to rest upon the sapphires and she wondered at their similarity to the stone set upon _his own_ ring. Though he vehemently denied the gift being a wedding ring, Christine would swear that it was most likely what the band had been marketed as. A shudder ran through her lithe frame at the thought, though whether in fear or awe she couldn't say.

There was a slight, almost imperceptible, shift in the air. Darkness, that element which had seemed so welcoming just moments before, had taken on an oppressive quality. Silence reigned through the underground, even the swishing of the oar and her wandering fingers seemed to cease for that one moment, like the calm before the storm. Without any further warning, save from those vague currents of air, the boat listed suddenly to the right, which happened to be the side Christine was leaning upon. A shriek passed her lips as she fought to regain her temporarily lost balance. Although she hadn't been in any danger, the suddenness of it all had startled her, especially since this lake was normally so placid.

Now sitting erect, with both hands clutching the side of the boat, she shakily inquired, "What… what was _that?"_

Silence was the only resounding answer to her plea. The oppressive air had finally morphed into a heavy weight which now descended upon her chest. Why wasn't he answering her? While the boat hadn't tipped very far, was it possible he could have fallen out? Was she now forever lost upon the labyrinthine lake?

Chancing a glance to learn the truth, she immediately discerned the black outline within the shadows. She released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding when she discovered his silent presence still behind her. Yet, she could find no comfort in his countenance, draped as he was in the black of night. Even his glistening eyes were unseen to her, leaving only hollow depths behind the mask- two pools blacker than the currents of Averne. She stared into that darkness, urging him with her mind to speak. However, no words escaped the confines of his shadows. It was needless to say that the dark man behind her did nothing to quell the pounding of her heart.

"Angel…" she tentatively started, wishing for conversation, _any _conversation to break the wretched silence. She was prepared to continue when the boat suddenly rocked once again to the right, tipping farther than it had before. Though she still clutched at the boat's side, her balance was lost as she toppled against it, the strange turbulence twisting her senses. Fearing that she would soon go flying over the edge, her screams pierced the night air for the second time.

"Erik!" she cried, but through the echoes of the caverns, the sound was distorted in a most ethereal way- almost losing the frantic quality with which it was uttered. The sound of an angelic choir crying for their fallen loves.

The boat began to right itself and she was able to return to a semi comfortable sitting position. A glint of gold in the shadows caught her eye as she turned to look at him once more, but was quickly extinguished from her sight. The chips of sky that formed her eyes quickly took on the qualities of an icy winter day as she glared at him, ideas forming in her mind as to why this usually calm lake was slowly becoming a writhing sea.

"That was not amusing, you know!"

The shadow tilted its head, allowing the rippling light to reveal his face to her.

"Now, whatever do you mean, my dear? Am I to be blamed for the occasional change of tide? I may be a great many things, Christine, but commanding the waters has never been one of them."

Unconvinced, she continued. "You _know_ I can not swim well! Yet you rocked the boat only to frighten me!" Knuckles white against the mahogany, she turned away in exasperation.

"Well, I did nothing of the sort, you know. Besides, I would not suggest swimming _here_, This lake is filled with things waiting to ensnare the unprepared."

Moments passed in silence until his voice permeated the air about her, warming it with only a syllable. "Have I ever told you the stories of the Siren, Christine?"

She considered ignoring him, and yet that soft voice demanded her notice.

"Like mermaids?" her quiet voice innocently inquired.

"Yes, like mermaids, but not quite so generous to the souls lost at sea."

He began to weave his words about her until she was blanketed in another reality. One where Grecian soldiers were believed to rule the waves, only to be crushed by the true queens of the sea- bringing death disguised as a haunting melody. She could almost see them perched upon a nonexistent rock, their glistening hair, their perfect bodies, and their deadly talons, beckoning to her across the lake's expanse.

"There have been stories of these creatures the world over," her Angel was continuing, but his voice sounded distant to her, as if coming from far across the lake, "Greece, Germany, England, even here in France. Some even say one of them has discovered our own hidden lake."

It was then she heard it, barely a whisper, but enthralling none the less.

"_Christine…" _it called.

She threw a glance at Erik, but what she could see of his lips were firmly shut. The call came again, riding the air currents like a nighthawk. Again, she heard it, again, and again until the voice was at her side of the boat, beckoning with a song.

"_Christine, Christine, come sing with me, sing…"_

Forgetting her fear of falling into the water, wanting only to entwine the mystic voice with her own, she leaned slightly over the edge, searching for the source of the sound. She stared into the obsidian darkness which had seemed to hold it but moments before. She fancied she could almost see a reflection there, so like her own yet subtly different- hair darker, mouth fuller, and glamorous eyes with just a hint of malice. The vision had a fey appearance which she had never possessed, and yet it drew her to it with the similar curve of the chin and slope of the nose.

_"…come…come and sing, Christine, come to me…"_

Her right hand obediently left the side of the boat, drifting slowly to the waters, to the face beneath the waves. Just as her fingertips brushed the cold, smooth skin, the boat listed for the third time, more violently than before, send her entire right arm into the depths and leaving the rest of her hanging precariously as the effect of the water soaked her lavender gown to deep violet. From a distance she heard her name cried not by the mysterious voice, but by some other majestic being, one which sounded somewhat familiar and yet unfamiliar.

Pain shot through her slender arm, the chill like millions of knives scoring her skin. The spell upon her had shattered with the scream and now fear filled the spaces the trance had left behind. For although the boat had righted itself once more, she was still draped over the side and any wrong move could send her floating to her death, to a graveyard shared only by the creatures of the lake and never greeted by the light of day.

Trying to calm her pounding heart, she tried to stay as calm as possible, shifting her weight towards the center of the vessel. She had somehow managed to maneuver her body back into the boat, but when she moved to extract her hand, it would not depart from the water, seemingly caught by something, or, her mind whispered ominously, _someone._ She vainly continued to pull harder, until she felt herself being pulled towards the murky depths once more as the boat continued along the currents without her.

A choked sob escaped her throat, an unintelligible cry for help. Even as the sound escaped her throat, her angel was beside her. His gloved hands grasped her shoulder, pulling her back and away from the woman in the dep. She felt herself suddenly jerked free of the waters and unceremoniously toppled back against Erik's knees, her face upturned towards his.

Blinking rapidly, she focused her vision upon the hypnotic eyes which shimmered down upon her, two wells of molten amber brimming with concern and some other emotion she could not place. He pushed her lightly into a sitting position before returning to his full height, leaning nonchalantly against the oar which propelled them through the darkness.

"Be wary of the Siren, Christine, for though she blesses you with her song, she will always demand something in return. Only be content she did not deem your life as her ransom this time."

Her face still tilted towards his, she watched as he pointed down at her right wrist, her eyes following his slender fingertips. When she finally let her gaze fall to her wrist, it took a moment to realize what he spoke of. The ring still glittered upon her finger, but her wrist was bare, devoid of any ornamentation, her bracelet now a possession of Averne. It was only then she could place the fleeting emotion within his eyes. For only the smug look of superiority could manifest itself in such a way.

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She shut the door to her dressing room while holding the huge bouquet of white roses Raoul had presented her with after the performance. They reminded him of her, he had said, unstained as they were of the darkness of the world. She had gratefully taken them and accepted his praise on a performance well done, but her mind had been far from the confines of the current time and place. They were still upon the stage, where she had felt yet not seen a scrutinizing gaze watching her every move. Placing the flowers upon a table with countless other gifts, she allowed herself to pull one of pristine roses from the bunch, trying to picture it as Raoul saw it, as an embodiment of herself. Moving over to the dressing table, she placed it next to another single rose, this one red as blood.

Sitting at the table, she lit a candle to add more light to this side of the lamp lit room and then absentmindedly fingered the petals of the roses. Erik had always ordered her not to accept the gifts of the public, reasoning that she couldn't let fame get to her head lest she become like La Carlotta. Why, then, did he shower her with gifts as if she were some type of queen. He gave her every object and more that she could possibly want. She counted off all he had given her within her mind, unconsciously plucking the petals off the flowers as she did so. Numerous chips of red and white satin had gathered in a pile upon the table when she finally came to the last gift he had given her. _Her voice, her current life._

Her eyes darkened as a thought entered her mind unbidden. _The siren blesses you with her voice, _he had said. She scooped a few petals into her hands and held them to the candle's flame, studying the fine lines which the light brought out. Was it that she had the voice of a siren, or that the siren had given her the voice? Erik had also said that the siren will always demand payment. If the latter was true, than how long until her Angel demanded the payment he alone desired. And, what if when the time came, she was not able to pay the toll.

With that dark thought, she suddenly began to lower the petals towards the flame, watching as each disintegrated into ash before her eyes, fearing her dark fairy tale would someday become insubstantial dust in quite the same fashion.

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Chapter Notes:

Victorians had hidden meanings for everything, including flowers. Here are the meanings for the flowers used at the end of this chapter:  
white rose: innocence, purity, heavenly, and secrecy  
red rose: love, respect, passion, and courage  
the white and red rose together: unity

_Once again, thank you for reading, and forgive any possible typos. It's late as I finish typing this so certain things may have missed my second runthrough. Thanks again to all who reviewed the first part (including a shoutout to those on PFN)and if anyone has any thoughts feel free to leave a review. Until next chapter, _

_TotF_


	3. Spark

**Disclaimer: **As you all well know, I own zip, zilch, and yes, even nada. Only the words in this particular order belong to me. Just to cover myself, possible references to Leroux, Kay, or ALW may abound.

_I know I said there would be four chapters… but I think I may have to extend that a bit. I'm actually quite enjoying writing these scenarios so I figure I might as well stress the relationship before I make a jump to what would have been the third chapter. I will try to update every week or so, but the beginning of the semester workload (especially from my Illustration class) has been bearing down, so that may not happen as regularly as I hope. Once again, a thank you to all those who have been reading this story. _

_PS- I will be fixing the typos/ grammatical errors in the first two chapters soon. I really need to stop writing at 1:00 am. Even though that's exactly what I'm doing now. A few questions I've received from reviews/emails will be answered at the chapter's end._

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_**Pomegranate Seeds:**_

"_Spark"_

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Even on the bleakest of nights, the site of the Opera Garnier was bustling with activity. Rambling lights of carriages cast the beautiful citizens of the city in soft glows, briefly leaving golden impressions upon the indigo sky. Chatter echoed through the wind, speaking of the wonders of the performance and of the angelic being who had shown them beauty and joy, despair and grief, all within the space of one night. For to them, she was nothing but a china doll, a marvel of craftsmanship and an idol to emulate. There was no possibility that she could be flawed as an average mortal was! How could such a messenger of grace be any less than the lovely, demure, idyllic woman? The Parisians would rather live a lie than believe that their operatic goddess was only a talented peer, for what interest would anyone take in a typical human?

One man among the glittering throng could boast that he had known it all along. The Vicomte de Chagny had long fancied in the boyish workings of his mind, that his beloved friend truly was heaven sent. And, yet, no matter how close he wanted to come to her, she always seemed to be just out of his reach. Tonight, however, she had nowhere to run, no enchanted air to dissipate into. For though he believed her to be the epitome of innocence, he would never be foolish enough to believe that a violinist's daughter would simply sprout the wings of angels and drift away.

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"Christine Daae, wherever have you been these past few days? I've seen almost nothing of your lovely face!"

Surprised, she looked over her shoulder to discover the source of such an emotive outburst. Yet, only Raoul de Chagny stood before her in all his aristocratic finery, his clothing perfectly tailored to his form and his hair swept back in the most recent of fashions. The only bit of him that seemed out of place in such a show of nobility was his face, which still held the boyish humor and charm that had enchanted her all those years ago. In her mind, she would always be that sweet little boy, the one who would battle the great sea upon her command. A smile materialized upon her features at the thought, and she settled comfortably into conversation as one always does with good friends.

"But, Raoul, you must know that I have been very busy now that I have much larger roles. Also, my dear Mama Valerius is quite taken with some illness or another and, between both of these, I have had little time for anything else."

He gazed at her with perplexity, his blue eyes cloudy. One expensively gloved hand rested upon his chin in thought, as if searching for exactly the right words to say without offending her. Sighing, he reluctantly chose to continue.

"Christine, I visited your home this morning. According to those in your household you have neither cared for your Mama Valerius, nor even slept in your own bed in at least a day. It was only a rather persistent urge to see you that has brought me here at such an hour."

A stain of red appeared high on her cheekbones as the alibi shattered with his simple statement. Her crystalline eyes darted about the dressing room, trying to find anything to focus on except the man before her. She had been foolishly caught in a white lie yet again, and now could not gather the courage to look into her friend's eyes. Disappointment was sure to have made an appearance on his countenance, for, of course, the Christine _he_ remembered had _never_ lied. She could not fathom when she had become so untruthful, even if she was as horrid a liar as Erik had said. Had the potential always been coiled inside her, waiting for the right moment, or had such a quality only appeared after she discovered the truth of her Angel? He had brought out pieces of herself which she had never wished to know existed, and she wasn't sure if she would ever be able to forgive him for that.

Her eyes flew over the mirror in their race to flee from Raoul's vision, bringing her reason for lingering in the dressing room to the front of her mind. She had a lesson tonight, despite how she had complained about lessons immediately following the performance. Erik would be arriving to accompany her to his home, and he was never late. How long had it been since she had entered the room only to find Raoul waiting for her? Was it seconds or minutes? Had her maestro already arrived, or did she still have time to usher her friend out? A quick glance at the dainty clock upon one table informed her that it was at least three minutes passed the appointed time.

She stood suddenly, gaze still fixed upon the full-length mirror reflecting every movement she and the Vicomte made. Were flaming gold eyes reflecting the scene as well? Erratic breaths issuing from her, she realized that she had lingered much too long and that Raoul most _certainly _should not be here with her. She began moving towards the door without releasing the gaze of her own reflection. Gesticulating wildly towards the hall, millions of excuses ran through her mind, yet each one seemed more absurd than the last. Besides, how was she to be sure he wouldn't catch her within another lie? Before anything could pass her lips, however, a pair of hands had grasped her arms lightly, halting her in the exodus from her dressing room. Raoul, it seemed, had not taken the hint and followed her to the door as she had hoped. Instead he stood mere inches away from her and, had he not stopped her when he did, she would have walked right into him.

The light touch of fingertips upon her chin gently led her gaze back towards his, infinite azure staring into equally endless sapphire.

"You have not been yourself. Disappearing for days at a time? Hiding secrets? I'm worried about you, Christine. I'm not sure what plagues you, but if you ever need to unburden your heart, I will be waiting. You do know that, don't you?"

She nodded silently, caught in his sky-lit gaze. He wanted to hear her story, wanted to draw her back towards the light, back towards the way life had once been. He would be there when the pieces of her lovely existence. Yet, she couldn't tell him, not yet at least. Had her Angel not helped to create those pieces, this life she now adored? She could not betray him when he _had _given her so much. Even though he frightened her at times, she could not bring herself to speak a word.

_Erik. _ If her tutor had not been there before, he would most certainly be waiting now. He must be waiting for her to rid her presence of her friend. Yet, if he _was _there, he was being almost too patient, for she knew well enough that he spared little of such a virtue for the Vicomte. Her eyes darted to the mirror, even as Raoul's hand kept her face firmly before his own.

"Christine," he said lightly, glancing quickly at the mirror, "you look fine. You have always been lovely." He brushed an errant curl behind her ear and leaned in close to whisper, nearly touching his forehead to her own. "Though, I don't believe you've ever looked lovelier than tonight."

She wanted to pull away, yet she could not. Instinct drummed inside her mind, warning her that something was wrong. Yet, she could not bring herself to act upon the message, choosing not to give into the urge to flee just yet. Instead she focused upon her friend's face, calling to mind images of footprints on the coastline. How could he make such conversation when the very air they breathed was tainted? Did he not feel it, like millions of shrewd eyes boring into them?

Closer still, he continued, his words meant to comfort. "It is only a reflection, Christine, it can never harm you."

Or so thought the Vicomte de Chagny. For at the very moment he meant to place a kiss upon his beloved's lips, the looking glass took its revenge. Every vase in the room immediately shattered in ominous succession, like a child's set of dominoes. Rending the silence like a knife, the debris tinkled against each other, creating a haunting melody akin to melancholy bells. Jumping back a bit from her, Raoul turned slowly, looking for some unseen spectre hiding in the shadows. Christine, however, did not join him in his search, instead choosing to stare at such beautiful destruction. Hundreds of flowers had lain themselves at her feet, a strange offering when accompanied with the hidden music. Her dressing room had somehow transformed into a disjointed field, crystals growing among the endless sea of flora. While taking in the damage, a single object caught her eye. One vase alone had survived the slaughter. It was set upon her vanity and filled with numerous roses, blood red in the lamp light, some strangely deformed, as half their petals had become victim to her own wandering thoughts. Raoul had been so sure that a reflection can cause no harm, but what of those behind the reflection? Suddenly, she only wished to be far away from the building, far away from any more destruction- no matter how majestic it might prove to be. The feeling of warning had returned, and her soul cried for her to only listen.

Raoul was making his way back over to her, oblivious to her inner turmoil, having inspected the room thoroughly. "Strange, very strange. No wonder your superstitious ballet corps believes this room to be haunted." He surveyed the glass scattered about the room. "This room is truly destroyed, Christine. You can't possibly plan on staying here any longer tonight." He watched her dismay with a heavy heart until a perfect idea struck him. "Why don't you come with me instead? Take a drive about the city while we have someone clean this mess."

She nodded absently, asking only for him to allow her a minute or two to gather her things. He happily agreed, and, with a joyous step in his walk, made his way out the door. Stepping carefully through the glass, she quickly shut the door behind him and latched it, lest he should entertain an idea of checking up on her. The storm of emotions she had been holding within released as she fell back against the door, exhaustion taking over. And still that little voice within her knew the worst was not over.

"Erik?" she tentatively called, yet no answering voice echoed from behind the silver glass. Had he gone then? Perhaps she _did _have enough time to gather her things and return to Raoul. A carriage ride really wouldn't be so distasteful, now that she thought about it. A breath of fresh air would do her good, a perfect way to clear her racing, fearful mind. Moving rapidly, while stealthily dodging the deadly shards, she ran to the chair where she had placed her coat. However, luck was not on her side, for as she moved past the mirror a shadowed hand snaked into the light and clutched her arm. A choking gasp escaped her throat as the being pulled her back towards the darkness from which it came. The mirror shifted back into place with a light _click,_ bathing her world in inky night.

She couldn't see, couldn't breath, couldn't think. There was no light here, no shimmering rays to pierce the air, no way for her to get her bearings. A dreadful voice erupted from the blackness, disorienting her as to which was up and down, forward and back.

"Going somewhere, Christine?" asked the darkness next to her right ear, "Did you forget we had a lesson tonight?"

She shook her head fervently, not knowing where he stood. Undoubtedly he could see her every movement, his strange eyes surveying her every motion, her every breath.

"No? Then why the sudden rush to follow the Vicomte, dear? Was he going to guide you home tonight?"

She simply shook her head again, knowing fully well that it would be futile to argue with him.

"Of course not, you can navigate quite well through the darkness, can't you Christine?" whispered the voice at her left ear, "Perhaps, then, you would like to lead the way to _my_ home tonight?"

No matter how it was phrased, she knew it was not a question. She would have to give in to his petty trials and show him that she truly could complete such a task. Once this horrible darkness dissolved, she would be able to pick out familiar turns. Showing Erik she wasn't half as helpless as her presumed would be a rather simple task indeed. She waited patiently for him to light a lamp, but after waiting for what seemed like minutes, still no spark of light had appeared before her eyes.

"Come now, my dear, we don't want to waste the night in a hallway. Unless, of course, you would you prefer to take your lessons here tonight?"

The tone was one of sarcasm and humor, yet Christine could feel their veiled iciness. He was entirely serious and most likely losing what little patience he had left. Not wishing to invoke the dark angel's wrath, she took a tentative step forward, trying to convince herself there was nothing to fear. Her mind whispered that the way could not be too hard, especially since she _had_ been walking this path for quite some time, now. Courage rising in her chest, she began to step forward slowly, one hand upon the wall at her side and the other swiping before her. She felt the uneven stones at her feet, the stale air of the passages, and the imposing presence at her side. He was following her every move, his cloak rustling as she traveled forward, all sound ceasing when she paused to choose direction. A feeling of premature accomplishment filled her being, clouding the small seeds of doubt within her heart. Despite the feel of boring eyes upon her back, Christine was feeling extremely proud of herself.

Yet pride is not always an emotion we should wield, as it more often than not brings trouble upon us. The paths became increasingly uneven, sending her stumbling more than once, returning the fear to her mind.

_You can't do this_, a voice whispered within her, _you will die before you succeed._

She continued on however, not wishing Erik to see her weakening resolve. She _would_ make it. She _would._ A strange scuttling upon the path worried her senses, but as long as he was behind her, she refused to be afraid. From that point on, she made a point to listen for his rustling cloak, the only reassuring note in a sea of blackness. However, pressed into the wall for support as she led the way.

They came to what seemed to be a crossroad, causing Christine to stop a moment to deliberate which way to proceed. Deciding that right would be the most probable direction, she continued on, listening for the reassuring _swish_ behind her. Yet, the sound never came and only silence reigned in the caverns. She would have turned around, groping in the darkness for a body, but the strange, scratching, scuttling noise resonated behind her, sending her forward more quickly than was wise. What could be behind her? Certainly Erik would not make such a sound, ghostly as he was. She honestly began to believe he was not behind her at all, that he had dissipated into the shadows he found so comforting. The noise came again, scratching, scratching.

For the first time that night, she gave into the instinct and ran, without any heed for the treacherous path before her. Stumbling once or twice in her flight, she made her way through the twisting caverns until finally running into a dead end, stone walls surrounding her on each side. She had nowhere left to go, nowhere left to run, and no one to turn to. The noise kept creeping towards her, scratching, scratching. She could not return the way she came, she could _not!_ Throwing her hands upon the walls before her, she searched frantically for some hidden door. Yet nothing would appear for her wandering fingers.

_You are a fool, Christine Daae,_ the voice intoned, _you knew you could not do this. _

The sounds continued to echo about the passage, sending her into incoherent panic. She began to pound upon the wall, feeling for any difference in texture no matter how slight. Finally, she found something cold to her touch, slippery upon her fingers. What was this? Water of some kind? Yet water didn't have quite the same consistency as this. She marveled at the substance upon her hands, the scuttling closer and closer, when an insane thought burst from her mind.

_Blood._ Could that be it? Blood spilled by the creature coming slowly towards her? The proverbial minotaur of the labyrinth? She had no where to flee, all roads were cut off. Something brushed over her leg, something living and breathing of its own accord. Any remaining strands of control she may have had were snatched away as Christine Daae let out a bloodcurdling scream, a sound none of Paris' opera patrons would ever expect.

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She couldn't say quite how long she went on like that, but eventually her mind began to regain its sanity and her eyes began to focus upon the slight changes to the world around her. The caverns had taken on a dim glow, and she found herself staring into a pair of melancholy amber eyes, illuminated by a lantern her angel now held before her.

"Christine," he crooned softly, soothingly, "it is alright. There is nothing here to harm you, nothing at all."

He swung the lantern slowly around the small space, revealing the truth to her senses. Her head snapped towards a scampering to her right, her heart rising in her throat once more, until she saw the monster of her nightmares. A rat scurried away from the light, leaving her for more interesting subjects to frighten. A shuddering breath escaped her as she looked down at her hands. Blood did not cake them as her mind had tricked her into believing, only a muddy grime coated her ivory fingers. Fighting an urge to laugh at her relative safety, she looked up into her angel's blank façade once more.

"You see now that there is nothing to fear, Christine? The world of the light is exactly the same as the darkness, you know, if only you know how to look. Come, now. I will show you the way, simply follow your eyes Christine, if they are what reveal the truth to you."

Without waiting for her to follow, he began to stride down the passage, his shadowy form a strange silhouette against the dim glow. As she rose to follow him, an errant brush of air delivered her words she was not meant to hear.

"When will you learn to see beyond your eyes, Christine? What will you do when I am not there to guide you through your darkness?"

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And that, my dear friends, is **nothing** like the chapter I meant to write whatsoever. The above occurrences were only supposed to take up maybe one page before I got into the real scenario. So, expect the next chapter to pick up right where this one left off. Sorry folks, the almost sweet E/C interaction I had planned will have to wait till next time. I mean, honestly, this chapter took such a different turn I had to change the chapter intro (because the referred to events don't occur in this chapter…lol) ponders how one page turned into eight…

_And now, the author answers the burning questions of reviewers! Woo… (you know you're excited!)_

**Q: **Does a yellow rose mean thank you? Or does it mean friendship like _Dawson's Creek_ said?**  
A: **While I was honestly never a fan of Dawson and his creek, they do have this one right. The yellow rose was said to mean friendship and platonic love. However, I'm sure it's plausible for a friend to give a yellow rose as a thank you.

**Q: **I've got cheesecake, you're not lactose intolerant, are you?**  
A: **No, can't say I am. Which means, bring on the cheesecake!

Until next time,

TotF


	4. As Stars Sigh

**Disclaimer: ** As you all well know, I own zip, zilch, and yes, even nada. Only the words in this particular order belong to me. Just to cover myself, possible references to Leroux, Kay, or ALW may abound.

_Forgive me, dear readers, for such a long interval between updates. Life, stress, classes, and a nasty case of Writer's block got in the way. This was originally posted only as part one.__The second half is posted below )._

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_**Pomegranate Seeds:**_

"_As Stars Sigh"_

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The city of Paris was experiencing one of the darkest weeks it had yet known. The shimmering moon had completed her cycle across the sky and now took her three days of sleep, leaving the streets without her cold light. However, the more distant inhabitants of the solar sea took this chance to shine their brightest, twinkling in reminiscence of the sun's own rays. The few denizens of Paris who took to the streets at such an hour did not so much as glance at the lights high above, but this mattered little to the stars. For their attention was turned to the opera house- seemingly ghostly in its silence. Only they would dare to strain their ears, waiting patiently before sighing in time with a faint music like that of heaven's angels.

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Deep below the world of man, a melody of unheard beauty was being performed. Two shadows played across one wall, distorted in the dim light, each one adding to the song in their own way. One the accomplished musician, the other the talented ingénue. It was a delightful sound to the ears, an excerpt from a popular opera. Yet, perhaps our singer was not putting her heart into it, or perhaps she was only having trouble with the intricate notes. No matter what the case may have been, her work was not up to par, much to the chagrin of the resident genius. One second was all it took for the airy melody to turn violent and stormy, for with one stroke, his hands came crashing onto the keys, shattering the air with a single discordant note. Startled into silence, Christine stared at him warily, still out of temper due to her earlier ordeal. He slowly maneuvered himself around the bench to face her, hands upon his knees, suggesting complacency. However, his eyes reflected nothing but annoyance.

"Christine, where _is _your brain? Judging by your performance, it _certainly_ isn't here… perhaps not even in Paris."

Biting her lip, she moved her gaze to the intricate rug beneath her feet, following the patterns with her eyes. She would not dignify his question, no _insult_, with any response. Perhaps today was not one of her best lessons, but then, she usually wasn't quite so disturbed before them. If Erik had not been quite so _persuasive_, she would have forgone tonight's altogether, preferring instead to collapse into the plush bed within her room.

"Perhaps," he was continuing, "you're thoughts were too focused upon your young Vicomte, hmm? Could that be where your mind is, Christine?"

Her eyes snapped up to his, ignoring the smug glint of humor within them. He had known that statement would get her attention, and the knowledge that she had taken the bait only pushed her mood deeper into the black abyss.

Exasperated, she sighed, "Erik, I only wanted a carriage ride! Would that have been so horrible? A simple outing to clear my head!"

The humor was gone and only determination set in the amber orbs. Standing in one swift motion, he brushed past her, reaching for his cloak.

"Clear your head, you say? Why if a carriage ride will remedy that horrid technique you were displaying moments ago, then let us go!"

A look of horror encompassed her face, not at the insult he had just flung at her, but at the prospect of going _anywhere_, aboveground no less, with _him._

"Come now, Christine, do you believe me to be inferior company to that boy? Really, your mind will clear just the same no matter who you go with."

He moved stealthily about the room as he rationalized the idea, grabbing her own cloak in the process. The heavy fabric dangled from his fingers just inches before her eyes, yet she simply dug her heels into the fine carpet as if such an action would ground her permanently.

"Truly," said she, "this is not necessary. Let us try that aria again, Erik? I'm sure I will do better this time."

He barely glanced at her as he fastened his cloak.

"No, it will be no trouble at all, my dear. You know I would never refuse such a request! " he exclaimed, deliberately missing the point. "If night air is what you need to improve your voice, then that is exactly what we shall give you!"

His outstretched arm offered her the cloak once again. When she made no move to take it, however, he simply dropped it upon her shoulders. Christine watched as he made his way to the door, placing his hat atop his head as he walked. This was the last chance she had to get out of this ridiculous scheme of his.

"Erik, _please_, I truly don't need to go! Really, I don't even _want_ to go!"

He glanced back at her, his face thrown into more shadow than before.

"Well, did you ever think that perhaps _I_ would like to go? Really, it _was_ your suggestion. Come if you like or stay here."

She watched as he opened the hidden door, though she could never quite figure out its secret. He began to saunter out when the realization hit her. She could either go out with him, into the world above where she was almost free, or stay here, trapped in a house with a door she could not open.

Mere seconds later, Christine was decked in her warm cloak, standing outside the strange house upon the Lake.

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Thus, Christine Daae, who moments before had so longed to return to the Overworld and its fine semblance of normalcy, now dreaded such an option. For even the most miniscule shard of reality would surely be frightened away by the imposing shadows beside her. She had always thought him a prisoner to his own world, bound by some distaste for humanity she could never quite comprehend. As she inhabited the upper levels of the Opera House, he breathed life into those beneath it. Yet it seemed for her, he would rebel against his self-imposed shackles only for the small reward of a crooked smile.

It took only a single instant for revelation to descend with its dark, downy wings upon her mind. Christine knew that no matter how far she may wander, that no matter how long she may hide, he would only stretch his bonds farther and farther- only to rest his eyes upon her once more. She would be forever watching the darkness for twin stars, displaced from the heavens; forever be scanning the breeze for some unseen melody.

Her soul was of the sort which would wither and die without the proper light of freedom. Mentally she knew that with Erik riding the night winds, she could never be free. Subconsciously, though, she wondered if she could ever break free of one who had so enriched her life- even if he opened the door to her gilded cage and told her to go, would she? There was no desire within her, however, to life a life resigned to that of a caged nightingale, trapped for fear of a presence she could neither see, nor hear, nor taste, nor touch. But how does one escape a man who holds the very shadows of the night at his whim?

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They emerged silently from the labyrinth onto the Rue Scribe, blackness unto blackness, shadows unto shadows, twin specters indiscernible in the moonless night. It was nigh to impossible, in her mind, that they should find a carriage at such an hour, yet he still led her through the street, slinking across the inky cobblestones in a manner which was less than genteel, she was sure. While it was true that she was only a violinist's daughter, merely a singer, Christine had always endeavored to be as wholesome as any woman of society. Though she was known to display a certain naiveté on occasion, she was _positive_ respectable girls most certainly _did not_ roam the streets in the night-- especially while a dark, disreputable-looking man walked by one's side. For, what normal girl would stroll with shrouded Death at midnight?

Her thoughts quickly becoming sour, she turned to her dark companion to express her distaste in the whole affair.

"Erik, why are we here?" she implored, "We'll _never_ find a carriage at the time of night!"

His strange eyes glanced at her briefly before gliding back to the empty road.

Irritated, she continued. "Besides that, it's cold! I could catch a chill, and _then_ I wouldn't be able to sing!" Surely, _that_ would make him see reason.

He replied without turning towards her. "It is no colder here than near my home, Christine. Chances of you falling ill are very low. Besides, it was not _I_ who needed to clear my head to finish the lesson. If you could not sing tonight, it is of little consequence, then, whether you could sing tomorrow, is it not?"

"Please, let us just go. There is no use waiting for nothing."

"Nothing, my dear?" He extended a hand, pointing her eyes down the street.

No sooner had he uttered the words, then a brougham came clattering down the road, halting mere feet from where they stood. Here eyes widened in disbelief. _How had he known?_

A sleepy little man sat upon the driver's seat, peering down at her through heavy lidded eyes. A yawn escaped his lips before he addressed Christine.

"Would you like to be taken home, Mademoiselle? A young lady like you shouldn't be out alone on such a night, you know."

She opened her mouth to speak, perhaps to give him directions to Mama Valerius' home, but Erik cut in before she got the chance.

"The lady is certainly not alone."

The driver stiffened immediately, visibly uneasy, searching for the source of the voice. Finally, his eyes lightened on the figure which had only now detached from the shadows. He glanced back at Christine quickly, then at Erik once more.

"Where to, Monsieur?"

"The park. Mademoiselle wished to take a moonlit stroll."

The driver simply nodded, as Erik took the liberty to open the door for her. She, however, made no move. What was this about a park? He had only said a carriage ride, had he not?

Seeing she was lost in her own thoughts, Erik took this opportunity to take his seat in the carriage, his strange eyes the only part of him visible through the dark interior. A single palm reached out from within, beckoning her inside. And so, with one more look back at the road, Christine took the gloved hand and clambered nervously inside. Watching the Opera fade through a single window, she rode off into the inky night, in a black carriage, a black figure at her side.

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Perhaps, just every so often, fantasies truly could break through the mind's invisible barrier to become full fledged reality. It wasn't something he often believed in, and even now such a concept wouldn't become one of his personal truths, yet he could settle for coincidence. For here he was, walking side by side (if not arm in arm) with his Christine- a cultivated stream at their side as the stars shimmered in their heavenly orbits. It wasn't exactly as he had imagined- the moon was nowhere to be seen and the events leading up to this moment _had_ been a bit sub par. However, how could one such as he argue with Fate? How could he condemn such a stroll when it was _he_ with the honor of walking through the park with the Opera's shining jewel? No, he would accept the moment as it was, perfection in its own right. The closest to perfection he might ever hope to be.

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She didn't want to be here. It was cold. It was dark. Respectable young ladies would be home at this hour. Most importantly, such girls would not be strolling through an empty park with a man… especially one such as Erik.

She stared up at him but could glean no emotion from him. For even had his mask not concealed his face from view, the ebony hood which bathed it in shadows surely would have. From this angle, she couldn't even make out his effervescent eyes. Yet, he seemed almost content as he strolled by her side- never too close, mind you- with his hands clasped behind his back. She even thought she heard a faint melody dissipating through the air as he passed. So different from her own current emotions, he was entirely in his element.

What kind of being wore the shadows as their cloak and the night as a second skin? Only Erik, her mind whispered, only an angel, a demon, a phantom, a reality. No, she certainly shouldn't be here with one such as he.

She had been a bundle of nerves since she had stepped out of the carriage and the emptiness of the park had done nothing to help. She couldn't help glancing about her every so often, hoping Erik wouldn't notice, hoping no one else in Paris would take to the absurd notion of a stroll under moonless skies. What if someone, _anyone_, saw her? The presence of another should be comfort to her, yet perhaps it was the possibility of such a presence which unnerved her. How could Erik be so calm when it was _he_ who loathed humanity? Should it not be _he_ fearing for the appearance of a stranger? It most certainly shouldn't be _she._

A quick glance brought her gaze to his own, and it was only then she realized she had stopped walking.

"Are you alright Christine? Perhaps a bit fatigued?"

_No._ Her mind cried. _Not alright. Not fatigued. Only weary of worry._

Her lips, however, assented in a light murmur and a slight nod.

He silently led her to a nearby bench, delicately carved marble under a large, shady tree. The sight seemed almost absurd to her, for why ever would she need shelter from blinding rays which did not exist? None of these thoughts left her mind however. She could feel his gaze upon her, but she dare not look at him, instead choosing to smooth the billowing folds of her skirts. She barely acknowledged him when his voice cut through the silence.

"Christine, why don't you take in the sights? It will surely take your mind off of whatever it is you fear."

Her eyes snapped up at his words. Why _ever_ did he believe she was frightened? How ever did he know?

"Do not look at _me,_ my dear. Surely the _beauty_ of the world would do your mind more good than _I_ ever would."

She still continued to stare at him, standing mere feet away from her.

An almost exasperated sigh escaped his lips as his voice lilted melodically,

_"_Christine, _Look at the stars."_

So she did. A silent gasp escaped her lips as she looked, truly examined the punched velvet of the sky. Truly took in all her troubled mind had blocked only moments before. Millions upon millions of speckled lights pierced the sky, unhindered by the gaudy moon or the loud city lights. It was utterly and infinitely lovely.

"Oh, they _are_ beautiful" she whispered incredulously, all the fear melting from her mind.

An ironic laugh floated towards her. "Yes, I've always found it interesting that such things are only visible when darkness falls. When no one is around to appreciate it."

No appropriate reply came to her, so she simply continued to stare at the sky above.

"You know," he began lightly, "if you look hard enough, you may be able to find larger images in those insignificant lights."

How could she ever forget such a thing as that? Her father had told her similarly when she was only a child. Yet, even though those days had long faded into time, she suddenly felt like a young girl again, searching the skies for celestial sights. Allowing her eyes to focus and unfocus, she tried to see below the surface of the heavens.

"What of that?" she inquired, pointing to a portion of stars, "the ones which look like an archway?"

He followed her fingertips, nodding. "The Corona Borealis. A Crown, not an Archway, my dear."

She turned towards his voice, searching for his eyes, but they were upturned towards the sky, lost in thought.

"The Crown of Ariadne, if I remember correctly. Her hand was given to an ancient hero in return for that crown. He promised to marry her after she helped him defeat a terrible horror, which they did. However, he ultimately left her abandoned- isolated upon a lonely isle. Perhaps not the happiest of the constellations."

"That's a horrible story, Erik. It would be better had I never heard such a thing. How could anyone do such a thing!"

His gaze upon her hardened to polished amber, giving her the inclination that _he_, at least, could believe in such an occurrence.

Yet, he only said, "It may be more common than you think, Christine."

They stared at one another in silence for a time, when the clattering of a carriage upon the nearby road shattered the moment. Erik's head snapped around towards the road, as Christine shot up from the bench, quickly smoothing her skirts and cloak into some semblance of normalcy. Her fears suddenly returned in full force as she realized they were quickly becoming reality.

"It seems we have company." Erik mentioned, nonchalantly.

She felt her hands shaking as she noticed exactly _who_ it was, walking along the path a short distance from them. They had to leave _now, _lest they be discovered!

"Erik, really, we…we should leave. I have no desire to see any strangers at the moment. Please, why don't we… let us just _go._"

"Oh? Now you wish for a ride back, hmm? When I could barely get you _into_ that carriage in the first place, Christine?" he asked sardonically, "Really dear, I would begin to fear for your sanity if I didn't recognize the _dashing_ figure of your Vicomte rushing along the path."

She was rooted to the ground, her head spinning, at a loss of how to prevent the two meeting. Oh, what a night of horrors this was!

"I begin to wonder, you know, just _why_ it is you fear any possible meeting between that boy and myself."

It wasn't a question. He hadn't even intended it to be. Yet, she could barely think- her faculties lost to raging worry. Worry for herself, worry for her dear friend, worry even for the dark man beside her. And, as we all know, troubled minds are the least likely to think before speaking. Thus, she answered him in little more than five words, clear as a bell among the flurry of thoughts within her head.

"Because he _fears_ for me!"

Everything in the world seemed to stop for that one second as he stared at her, an emotion within his eyes which she could not fathom. Shock? Pain? Hate? She couldn't decipher it.

"He _fears_ for you, Christine? Why ever should he do that? Why should anyone fear when _I_ am here to protect you?"

She couldn't bring herself to look at him as he continued.

"Or is it something else entirely? Does he perhaps believe you fear for _yourself_? _Do_ you fear for yourself constantly, _my dear, _or only when you are in such company as _mine-"_

"-No, Erik, I didn't mean!-" she cried, yet he ignored her, continuing his tirade, slashing his hand through the air as he spoke.

"-Perhaps you fear for _him_ as well. Well, fear not, _mademoiselle,_ for your dear boy is safe from _Erik's_ wrath… for now. I bid you goodnight."

He began to step back into the shadows of the tree. She lunged towards him, hand outstretched as if begging him to wait. Yet, he continued to disappear, his cloak melding with the darkness until she could only see his eyes.

"Erik, _please._" she begged, yet even that verbal plea did no good as she felt his words billow about her.

"I said, _goodnight_, mademoiselle."

Tears began to prickle at the corners of her eyes when she heard another voice call her name. Raoul came up next to her, a concerned expression upon his handsome face.

"I have been looking all over for you!" He cried, "I thought we were going for a ride _together,_ you know…"

It was then he noticed her glistening eyes. "Whatever is the matter?"

She forced a smile upon her face, though it did not quite reach her eyes. "Oh, nothing Raoul. Only an effect of the wind in one's face, I suppose."

Though there was little wind that night, he seemed to take no notice. "Well, I was quite worried you know," he said smiling, "I came back to your dressing room and you were no where to be found! Then I called at your home, thinking perhaps you'd returned there, yet no one had seen you in hours. Finally, I thought perhaps you had simply been sidetracked on your way home."

"Oh, yes, that was exactly what happened," she lied, "I have been wanting to take a look at this particular path, you know. Though how did you find me here?"

"Just a guess," he laughed, "but I suppose it wasn't a bad one at all."

She allowed herself to laugh hollowly along with him.

A hand was offered to her then, as well as a ride home courtesy of the Vicomte de Chagny. How could she not accept such a well meaning invitation? Thus, the Jewel of the Opera strolled back along the path, arm in arm (if not side by side) with her childhood friend- a cultivated stream at their side as the stars shimmered in their heavenly orbits.

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He watched in heart wrenching agony as the two strolled out of the park, out of _his_ dream turned reality. His dear Christine, poor innocent Christine who couldn't believe in the cruelty of humanity… yet was unwittingly able to commit the sins of man herself. She had abandoned him to his own solitude for the remainder of the evening, shattering the dream which they had been weaving.

"Oh, yes, Christine… such things truly _are_ more common than you would think." he whispered to the empty air about him.

Then, with one last glance at the stars above, he allowed himself to dissolve into the shadows about him, dark clouds which even covered the twin lights of his eyes. When dawn spread her fingers about the park, none would ever know of what had occurred the night before. No evidence was left of all the things gained and all the things lost during one of the darkest nights Paris had ever known.

_A/N:_ Okay! Everything's starting to come full circle now. Two chapters left. Sorry for the long wait, but I hope the end of this chapter wasn't too disappointing! Much love to all you readers… your thoughts are always welcome, so if you wish leave me a note/review/whatever. Until next time.


	5. The Folly of Fate part one

-1**Author's Note: **Wow. How long has it been? A year? Please forgive the absence! Lots of Life has happened to me since then and now. Two more semesters of college and only now I'm writing this next chapter- and not even a whole one at that! You must forgive the "to be continued-ness" of this… It _has_ been a year after all and I must get back into the minds of these characters. There's nothing worse than to write something that _should_ be serious out of character. Hope you enjoy the little bit I've posted. The second bit will be up soon… and as always, the only thing that belongs to me are the words in this particular order.

**The Folly of Fate**

It is man's utmost folly to believe that he is Fate's employer. That She is a creature who deals in equality. One that fairly compensates for the handicaps She creates. Man will try to outwit Fate and meticulously plan. He will bless her name when things go right- believing he has been awarded for his genius. Yet, there is always that moment- that one faulty second- when one's life becomes a battlefield and Fate a cruel and fickle general. Then man curses her- curses, even, the day he was born. She, however, can not comfort him. Is it her fault for doing her job? Is she to be blamed for overseeing events written at the dawn of Time? No. It is not in her nature to do so.

But then, that is why Destiny exists. The older sister of Fate, the writer of the stories, the tales. Her own personal opinion is that man's greater folly is his unwillingness to see the whole picture- yes, greater than trying to fool her sister, if you can believe it. Authors and Journalists write only of a man's fate- a third party observation of tangible objects and comprehensible thoughts. They do not realize that a story does not end with only oppression. That there is no death without hope hidden in the seams. It is a secret Destiny wove in- a loophole for those people willing or desperate, enlightened or crazy enough to find it.

The tragedy is a strange creature, you see. It calls to some people's souls the same way many hearts prefer the tinkling and shining happy endings. What the typical human doesn't realize is how many facets comprise the epilogue of a story. Emotions are not limited to what you read- to one party's personal revelation of another's situation. An ending of love and devotion can easily be a mask for greed and deception. On the other hand, a tragedy is not necessarily always tragic. We all know that every precious gem starts out as something less than desirable. That the beauty only shines in the eyes of those willing to delve below the surface. For, as with all things in this life, it all depends on the way one looks at things.

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It was over. Abandoned once again. By his own folly? Perhaps. By his own horrible fate? Of Course. By his heart? His Damnable heart which he tried to forget about with every waking moment? Even more so.

His life lay in tatters around him. He tried to erase all memory of the days gone by. Of the few times he had been truly happy. Were those days real? Or were they just delusions he continued to nurture? He couldn't say any longer and- to let the truth be known- it was quite likely he no longer cared. All that surrounded him now was Death. Not the kind of Death that he himself personified. Not the kind he had always imagined- fashioned, even- himself to be.

The Death of Mind.

The Death of Power.

The Death of Hope.

The Death of Light.

The Death of the Music.

Yes. It was all over now. He knew he could hold it off no longer. Life had deserted him in a flurry of curls and lace.

He was tried.

He was sentenced.

He was condemned.

And yet….

He didn't wish to give up quite yet. She _had_ promised him, after all.

He raised his eyes from the ivory keys he had stared at for a good portion of the day. The week? The month? He no longer knew… the clocks had stopped long ago.

It was definitely a matter of delicacy. A matter of should or should not. A matter of doing things in the most discreet way possible.

He scanned the room in thought- Unfocused and Uninterested in the treasures he had collected throughout the years.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, a shimmer of gold commanded his attention. He stood up- frailly- and stumbled over to the table. He would have lunged if his legs had allowed him. It was buried under unfinished scores and blank sheet music. Under notes scrawled in an illegible handwriting. But it was there. Something forgotten. Something that he had _meant_ to be forgotten.

Cradling the object in the palm of his hand, he felt unshed tears burn his inhuman eyes, and released peals of haunting laughter. Laughter bound to forever echo the caverns of the labyrinth.

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Part Two Soon… )


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